The Devil's Work
by Sahara Storm
Summary: [Oneshot, ChaseWuya] The devil makes work for idle hands. Wuya is restless, and today, Chase will allow it. [Mature Content.]


**Title:** The Devil's Work

**Fandom:** Xiaolin Showdown

**Pairing:** Chase/Wuya

**Rating: **R.

**Word Count: **2,606

**Summary/Description:** The devil makes work for idle hands. Wuya is restless, and today, Chase will allow it.

**Warning/Spoilers:** Smut, and a bit of blood stuff. Read at your own risk, and don't blame me for any mental scarring. Spoilers for the first couple of episodes of the Wudai arc.

**A/N:** Let's just get this straight. I do not like Chase. In fact, I don't think it would be an inaccurate estimation to say that I hate him. The reason for my fervent dislike? I don't quite know. I usually go for the young, good-looking, evil, bent-on-taking-over-the-world guy. But Chase? Nah. I think it has something to do with the sheer amount of times he says the word 'evil' per episode. It's bloody annoying. Anyway, if I hate him so much, why am I writing about him, you ask? Because I adore the idea of him and Wuya. I always knew that if I would ever write anything about Chase, it would involve blood, sex, sarcasm, and our favourite Heylin Witch.

The following is an abridged version of the real story, which could not be posted here because of FFN's rules (no porn, woe). I had to cut out a chunk, and it may seem a bit awkward. If you'd like to read the entire story, check my profile for a link.

**Disclaimer:** If I owned _Xiaolin Showdown_, stuff like this would happen on a regular. So then it's probably a very good thing that it belongs to Christy Wui.

* * *

Outside of Chase Young's castle, in the pale grim light of morning, a tiny thrush perched itself on a tree branch not far away, and thrilled a sweet song. The Lord of Darkness himself, seated on his throne inside, narrowed his reptile eyes into dangerous slits, a scowl fitting onto his lips. A flux of dark power, concentrated out of the window, and the bright bird was reduced to ash and dust. The Dark Lord settled back into the seat, falling into a brooding stance. 

Chase was _not_ in a good mood.

Yet again, he had been thwarted by those damned Xiaolin Warriors. Children though they were, they were skilled fighters, quick thinkers, and had a despicable amount of teamwork and hope and goodwill and other such drivel at their fingertips. No matter how dire the situation he created for them, the four children, that slapdash team, always seemed to bounce back. It seemed inexplicable to Chase, that they had yet to succumb to his plans.

Of course, it helped that they had Omi on their side.

Yes, Omi. Chase's fingers curled around the arm of his chair in his anger. For far too short a time, that gifted monk had been his to command and wield. Everything had been going according to plan; the scenario inside the Fountain of Wui, Omi's foray into the Ying-Yang World, his subsequent turn to evil, his vow to stay by Chase's side, and everything that had culminated in Omi's enslavement in the body of a golden feline. However, thanks to the cowboy, the hacker and the Brazilian, and Omi's damning refusal to break his word, and turn to evil, the young boy had once again escaped his clutches.

Thanks could, of course, be given to the monks' performance in the Xiaolin Showdown. Omi's martial arts skills were ever growing and improving. It seemed that he was taking what Chase had taught him and twisting and improvising it to serve his own will. _Sparrow eating hotdog_, indeed. Chase had been blindsided; he would concede to that. The boy was a brilliant young, gifted warrior.

And that was why he belonged on the side of _evil_, not _good_. It made Chase's eyes flash with fire, to think of the things that he and Omi could together accomplish; to imagine the malignance they could spread across the world. They would rule a world draped in darkness, side by side. The boy was staunch, but the Dark Lord had no doubt that in time, Omi would see the light. Or rather, the shadow.

His dark brooding was interrupted by a soft elegant hand that smoothed over his shoulder, and crept up to cup his jaw. His eyes narrowed, and he smothered a growl of exasperation. He was in no mood for the Witch's idle nonsense.

"Why so glum, Chase?" Wuya's rich, husky voice was a breeze at his ear.

He gave her a baleful glare.

"I have just lost one of the world's most powerful warriors to the side of good, and yet you question my foul mood?"

The Heylin Witch's red, red lips twisted into a half-pout, half-frown.

"Omi?" She slithered round to his side, and settled on the arm of his throne. "You know, Chase, I'll never understand your fascination with that boy."

He kept staring straight ahead, trying to ignore the way her fingers traipsed over his cheek, ran over his long dark hair.

"No. You won't."

"I mean, he's just a boy-"

"Omi isn't '_just_' anything," he finally snapped, a hand reaching up to quickly encircle her roving wrist. "He's a far better warrior than you shall ever be." He flung the hand away from him with an air of disgust. "I've entertained your worthless tomfoolery for long enough, and now, you will kindly keep your hands off of me. Go amuse yourself elsewhere, until I find a use for you."

"Oh, Chase, don't be like that." Instead of removing herself from his sphere of notice, the Witch encircled his neck with her light brown arms from behind. She nuzzled his ear lightly. "I'm just trying to cheer you up."

"My patience draws thin, woman," he deadpanned, "while my good cheer remains at its default low."

Her hands splayed out across his chest; the heat of them seemed to penetrate his ever-present armour.

"I'm sure I can change your mind," she purred into his ear, letting her tongue flick out lightly to taste his skin.

Faster than she could blink, Chase reached around, grabbed her by the waist and flipped her unto his lap, one hand pressing into her side, the other securing her neck in a chokehold. There was a dark look in his eyes, smouldering and burning with impatience and annoyance. Wuya feared for a minute that she had gone too far.

"Whatever it is you want, _woman_," he ground fiercely into her ear, "I can not and _will_ not give it to you."

Wuya gasped, choking, and tried to pry his fingers away from her throat. Only after a few moments did he allow her to.

"Don't be so sure of that," escaped her lips in a soft wheeze. Still, she persisted, running her hands over his hair, pressing her face up to the side of his. She straightened her legs out so that they ran parallel to his, and rubbed them up and down. "How long has it been for you, Chase, my dear? It's been… _millennia_ for me." She sounded almost desperate, frustrated even, as she breathed hotly into his ear, nipping at the lobe ever so slightly.

"I am impervious to pleasures of the flesh," he said stiffly, voice as hard and brittle as granite. Even so, he could not help the hitch that rent his words when a long nailed scraped the skin of his neck.

"Is that so?" Wuya chuckled throatily, her bright white canines flashing. "Doesn't seem that way to me."

With a heated growl, Chase caught her around the waist with both hands, held her away at arms length, and regarded her, hard. The Witch was unrelenting, it seemed, and would not give up at this, like a bitch in roiling heat. And it seemed like his omnipotent resolve was being watered down with each passing minute that she kept her wandering hands on him. He reflected, eyes narrowing further with each passing second.

"Why do you want this from me?" he asked squarely, not giving a hint of the fact that he was actually considering this ludicrous proposal.

"Well, to begin with," she started with a laugh, "you're the only male within a ten mile radius that doesn't spend most of his time on four legs. And you're pretty sexy to boot." She ran a finger tantalisingly along his jaw, but he didn't flinch; blink, even. "And I'm restless, and impatient, and frustrated, and I don't _want_ this, _I need it_." Her fingers came to curl on the neck of his shirt, trying to pull them closer together. "Won't you give it to me Chase?" she ended on a whisper.

Golden, oval eyes flicked over her shapely, black-clad form. Restless, hm? He might enjoy this, even.

"Really, Wuya?" He again put her to rest on his lap, and entrapped a flaming lock of hair between his fingers, twisting and tugging. His smooth reptilian eyes narrowed, and the corner of his lips canted into a smirk. "You know what they say about the devil and idle hands."

"Yeah." She pushed her face into his neck, and breathed him in deeply. "Give me some _work_ to do, Chase."

He made his decision. This might prove itself to be entertaining, and even enjoyable if it played out well. For the least, it would distract his mind from his latest defeat by Omi and the other Xiaolin Monks. And it would make a use of Wuya's newly reinstated body. Since helping her return to her true form by the use of the Serpent's Tail and the Reversing Mirror, she had not been of that much help. Sometimes, he thought that it was more of a nuisance than an advantage, to have her on his side. Half of the time, the woman seemed to lust over Shen Gong Wu, and nothing else.

The Heylin Witch had to be admired, though; even he would admit that. He knew that, despite all of her seeming eagerness to please, her obsequiousness, she hated to have to submit to him, to follow him, to do his will. He was, in fact, very assured that if ever she got the chance to become more powerful than him, and overthrow him once and for all, she would grasp it, with both hands. The chances of _that_ happening, however, were very, very slim. The Witch was not yet powerful enough to even fathom contesting the likes of Chase Young.

For now, she was stuck doing the devil's work. Though, by the look on her face, he could tell that she wasn't displeased by that at all.

"Fine, then." He settled into the embrace of his chair, and smirked. "Demonstrate to me how you would go about changing my mind."

Wuya grinned, triumph flashing in her opaque emerald eyes. Approval gotten, she moved in for the kill.

She pressed her lips to Chase's, starting off with a simple kiss. The skin of his mouth was rough, but warm, and his breath was darkly sweet. Her tongue swept out to lick at his lips, dampening them with her desire as her hands crawled into his hair to feel its full, rich thickness. The strands slipped over her hands, and she didn't think that it was possible for anything on this man to be so soft.

One of his hands moved to the small of her back to steady her, and that did it for Chase's participation. It seemed that for now, he wanted her to commandeer this ship. Wuya chuckled into his mouth. She had no problem with _that_.

Her index finger and a thumb held his chin so that she could manoeuvre his mouth open. That done, she let her tongue slip inside, and explore. She moaned to feel his own wet, flexing muscle come into contact with hers, and angled her head so that they both had better access. She could taste him distinctly, and it was wonderful, all dark and rich and potent and powerful. Hungrily, she dove in for more. Tongues duelled and fought, lips suckled and nipped, teeth clashed and bit, and Wuya could hardly catch her breath from the exhilarating feel of it all, how it made her come alive. It had been _far too long_.

Her hands travelled down his sides, searching for the clasp to his armour. She found one on each side, and wasted no time in undoing them. The two pieces of metal fell unheeded to the floor with twin clanks. The Heylin Witch's hands were then free to explore the muscled expanse of his chest, with its contours and planes and angles. He was gloriously hard all over… _all_ over, she realised with a wicked smile as she thrust her hips forward eagerly. Chase wasn't as resistant to this as he would have liked to think.

Her lips diverted, skirting over his cheeks and down to his neck, which was now sporting a thin sheen of sweat. She pressed hot, open mouthed kisses to his skin, and was delighted when she pulled a muffled moan from his lips. His pulse beat to a wild, erratic rhythm beneath her mouth, and she shuddered with overwhelming power and satisfaction, to know that it was she who brought the great Chase Young to this.

Her skirt rode high on her hips as she moved to a straddling position, a knee on either side of his. She slipped off his shoulder pads and his gloves. Then, her fingers were clawing at the waistband of his pants, trying to free his undershirt, so that they could both be rid of it. He accommodated her by lifting his hips ever so slightly. The smooth warm press of his length into the velvet skin of her thigh excited her, and she knew she had to hurry. The shirt pulled free, and she ripped it away with abandon, the torn pieces fluttering to the floor to rest beside the skewed armour.

Now, she could feel him properly; feel the smoothness, the heat, the strength that pulsed in his frame. Her light fingertips skipped over his pectorals and abdominals, and then skimmed back up his sides to tease his nipples. Chase drew in a ragged breath, and Wuya smiled another triumphant smile. With white, diamond hard teeth, she pulled at the flesh just below his jugular, pressuring it with her tongue, just so she could hear that sound again.

His hands did not stay still for much longer. Before long, they were travelling up and down her back, curving at the swell of her hips and bottom, and smoothing over the curvature of her shoulders. Wuya mewled in deep satisfaction, loving the way his rough hands moved over her. She wriggled, trying to shrug her dress off of her shoulders, and hoping that he would get the hint, and do it for her. She wanted hot, electrifying skin on skin contact, and she couldn't wait much longer for it. Her hips writhed insistently, and she could feel him ever growing between her legs.

She could barely control her moan when the rough pads of his thumbs slid the black silk of her dress down her shoulders, off of her arms, and out of their way. It pooled at her waist, above which her breasts were proud twin peaks, smooth tanned skin tipped with dark, pebbled tips. Experimentally, swiftly, he dragged his fingertips over them, and she had to bite her lips from the pleasure that abounded. The ache between her legs grew, and she ground her hips adamantly, begging for release. Again and again, he denied it, torturing her nipples with his fingers, and finally with his mouth, until she wanted to cry from the infuriating mix of pleasure and pain. It ripped through her like a bolt of lightning, leaving devastation and pure liquid want in its wake.

She scrabbled frantically at his belt buckle, trying to undo his trousers. That was when, apparently, Chase decided that that was enough, and that it was time for _him_ to take things over.

* * *

A while later, they collapsed onto the chair, gasping for breath. Their heated skin stuck to each other's as they cooled off together in a sweaty mass of tangled limbs and hair. 

"Leave," he panted out not a few minutes later, "at once." His voice was flint-hard, unyielding, and warranted no argument.

She laughed huskily, not even surprised in the least. There could be no nuzzling or afterglow or post-coital bliss; not with Chase Young. She stretched slinkily to her feet, like a cat, and righted her dress as best as she could.

"We should do this again, Chase," she called out as she made for the door, hips sashaying. There was a grin alighting her face, and she wore the look of a well-satisfied woman. Chase's demeanour was hard and cold and uncaring as it always was, but that did not deter her in the least. "I'll be sure to get bored again, and soon." She laughed again, in that gravelly, feline voice of hers. "I'm sure the devil will find some _work_ for me."

The huge, ornate door to his rooms shut on her laughter, and Chase once again found himself alone, abandoned to his thoughts.

* * *

**A/N: **I'd like to hear anything you have to say; it's much appreciated. 


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